


Then Is Not Now

by AnneMayfair



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 08:39:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12429057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneMayfair/pseuds/AnneMayfair
Summary: Millie has a wildly different experience in having her children.





	Then Is Not Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [calamitywritesstuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/calamitywritesstuff/gifts).



When she was heavy with the child, Milliara could barely move. But it wasn’t as if she could go anywhere. Frederic kept her fed and not thirsty, but days of silence and loneliness took their toll on her. When he did visit, she’d cling on to him as if he made the sun rise in the mornings, as if the waters flowed by his will.

“Have you been a good mother?” Frederic asked, placing his hand on her stomach, pressing it. Force of his touch drew a whimper from Milliara as the child kicked her, and she smiled and nodded.

“I do my best for you,” she whispered, eyes slowly rising to meet his. “I want to be the best mother for your child.”

Her child, too. Her child, more than his. But not now, she needs to get out of these four walls, she needs fresh air and a little more movement to feel her legs again. For that to happen, she just needs to play along, doesn’t she? He comes round. Always does.

“Good, good,” Fred praised her, cupping Milliara’s face. “A little longer and you’ll give me a child. And I will love that child, and I will take care of that child.”

It made Milliara’s heart stop beating as she tried to kiss his hands only to find him let go of her, to see him stepping away. She barely stood up from her bed, her belly dropping low between her legs. She reached out to him.

“Frederic?” She called with one hand in the air and the other wrapping around her stomach. “Frederic, wouldn’t you stay with me? Won’t you take care of me?”

He turned to her, smiling, but not reaching back to touch her.

“I am taking care of you, my love,” he answered. “Stay here and try to relax, for me and for my son.”

She banged on the door and clawed at it as he left, cursing and yelling, but the darkness behind it never replied. Milliara wanted to sink on the floor but knew she must not. Standing up would be a real bitch. 

***

When she was heavy with the child, Milliara could barely move, her pregnant belly so large it seemed to press on her lungs from the inside. She had a special pillow she hugged as she slept and as much she didn’t want to admit it, it helped a lot.

One morning she woke up on her back, for the first time in many weeks. The bedroom wasn’t silent as Gilbert hummed, his index finger circling around Milliara’s bellybutton through her night gown.

“You kept turning all night,” he said, planting a kiss on her belly. “It seems we have a real fighter in you. Or a very passionate dancer.”

Milliara moaned and pushed him away, turning to hug her pillow again. Her back stretched pleasantly and she settled in for more time in bed. Gilbert moved up to her to kiss the back of her neck and to play with her hair, softly breathing on her skin.

“You’re warm and disgusting,” she complained, turning to look at him. And she squinted. “Why are you dressed already?”

“It is noon, my love,” Gilbert brushed his lips against her forehead, giving her a quick kiss. “I’m about to leave to meet with…”

“I don’t care,” she buried her face in her pillow, pursing her lips. “Go, leave me alone, then. Make money for Ferelden while your wife is miserable and cannot move on her own. Asshole.”

Leaning on his elbows, Gilbert kissed and huffed into Milliara’s hair, his lips soft and tender on her scalp. He lightly caressed her belly before leaving, whispering sweet nothings. He then reached to peck the side of her stomach, his beard tickling and scratching Milliara’s skin at the same time.

“Take care of your mommy,” he instructed the big bean inside her, “be a good baby for us, would you?”

When he stood up from the bed, Millie caught him by the hand and drew him in, still sulking. But not at him.

“Have a good day, Gilly,” she kissed him on the lips. “I’m sorry I’m talking to you this way, I didn’t sleep well.”

He kissed her back, insistent and hungry. “Don’t apologize. Rest.”

Gilbert smiled at her and stroked her hair before leaving.

 ***

When her waters broke, Milliara cried and called for help, her guards barely noticing the panic and distress in her voice. The doctor came by the time when she writhed in pain, almost on the floor, holding her pregnant stomach with her hands. He flipped her to her back and spread her legs, fingers reaching in between her legs to see how she was doing.

“Please,” she tried to reach to the man’s hands, sweat forming on her brow and above her upper lip. “Please, I need… I need…”

“Lie still,” the doctor barked an order, one hand disturbing the irritated walls of her vagina and the other slapping away Milliara’s reach. “You’ll be fine.”

Milliara lay back on her cot, biting her lip and wheezing, fingers digging into her worn-out mattress. Water started leaking from the corner of her eyes as she heard Frederic pace outside her room, her cell, her prison. The ceiling was dark and dirty. She wondered if her wet skin was caused by the labor, or was it always this damp and humid?

She would kill this doctor if it meant she would get a blanket.

With a wet sound, the doctor finished his examination, standing up and wiping his hands against a towel. Milliara looked up at him and her question was interrupted by Fred’s voice:

“How long?”

“That cannot be predicted, monsieur,” the doctor headed towards the door. “We’ll hear when the baby starts pushing through.”

“Please, don’t leave me!” Millie cried out to Fred, to father of her child, who wouldn’t even come inside the room. “Frederic, my love, don’t leave me alone!”

“She’ll be fine,” the doctor told the Chevalier. “Women have children every day and this one won’t be different. You kept her in good condition.”

The door closed and it felt as if it cut off her air. A lightning bolt of pain ran through her body, more intense and merciless than anything she had ever experienced before. She yelled and screamed, her back arching outwards, and the room remained quiet.

 ***

When her waters broke, Milliara cried and called for help. The elf swayed on her spot and barely held onto the nearest chair, regaining balance for a moment. She looked down in disbelief, panic squeezing air out of her lungs.

“Healer!” Her handmaid hurried to hold Milliara up, hands wrapping under the bard’s armpits. “Healer, please!”

“Oh, Maker,” Millie managed to whisper as she was slowly guided to their bedroom. “Maker, please, I’m not ready…”

The handmaid and what seemed to be half of the household servants whispered and hushed as Milliara was taken into her and Gilbert’s bedroom, filled with light that seeped through window shutters. Someone has already beaten the pillows by the time she was carefully put on top of her linens, where she and Gilbert have been sinning.

“Send for Master Gilbert,” a male voice said.

“No,” Milliara barely whispered, desperately grasping the hand that held her head. “No, this is too sudden, this can’t be it, can it? I think there’s no…”

“It’s going to be alright, love,” a female voice said as a wet sponge started wiping sweat off her face and neck. “Stay calm, it’s only the beginning. You need to breathe and prepare yourself for a long one.”

Midwife touched and pressed at her stomach, Milliara moaning and reaching to grab at her pillow as her insides seemed to have swelled up, preparing to burst any moment.

“You’re going to have such a big and beautiful baby,” the midwife smiled at the elf as servants cleared the room, leaving behind a couple of maids and one manservant to haul hot water. “Head down where it should be, good, good.”

Her breathing steadied as the pain and pressure subsided. Milliara propped herself up by the elbows, huffing, white locks falling onto her forehead as she stared at the older woman.

“How fucking big?” She asked, brows furrowing.

The woman gently pressed at the elf’s shoulders, making her fall back again. Milliara fought for a minute but followed in the end, although trying to express every ounce of her displease with her eyes.

“Not the biggest I’ve seen in my life,” Milliara was told. “But there’s no denying the baby will be big for you, love.”

 ***

She was well into labor when the doctor came back with a tub of hot water and towels. Milliara writhed and crawled on the mattress, trying to find a position that wouldn’t break her back. Every inch of her body felt as if burned in fire, her mouth was dry and she felt blood drip down her inner thighs. Her crying and yelling changed into quiet sobbing and whimpers as her stomach muscles contorted, wanting to push the struggling child out.

With a loud sound the doctor dropped the tub on the floor by Milliara’s cot, soaking the towels in water before rudely rotating Milliara to lie on her back. She cried out sharply for Fred but there was nothing. The elf felt the doctor put her legs apart and there was weakness in her knees she never knew before.

“Hold onto something,” the doctor said, taking out the first towel and rubbing his hands in it before using the same towel to wipe blood and its dried flakes from Milliara’s thighs and underside of her belly. “Follow my command and push when I say.”

“What push?” The elf desperately grabbed onto wet linen underneath her, head rolling from side to side. “I feel… I feel like I’m going to die, ser! Please, for Maker’s fucking sake, do something!”

 Her speech drowned in a screech that stole all breath from her as a razor or a blade cut her insides and burned her slit. She shuddered and convulsed as Milliara felt the doctor hold her in place, and when she looked down on her, there was no blade or razor.

“What the fuck was that?” She gasped, her hips shaking and sweat rolling down her back.

“A contortion,” doctor replied shortly, checking the opening inside Milliara. “Hold yourself, they’re going to be faster and stronger until the child emerges.”

“Why?” She wheezed, arching on the cot. “How?”

The pain was excruciating, washing away any hint of strength Milliara had in her. She was so weak and helpless and the room around her was dimly lit, cold and wet. The window was shut and the only light came from a candlestick that was mercifully lit by the doctor few hours ago.

Panting, Milliara felt her insides stretch, and she held onto edges of her cot. She looked down on the doctor, whose face was serious and cruel. The elf’s chest went cold as she felt him move inside her, outside her, assessing the situation.

There was no real goal of keeping her alive. Her little baby was the only thing that mattered to Fred.

 ***

She was well into labor when Gilbert came, throwing his coat on the floor and rushing to Milliara’s side. He carefully pushed away the maid that held Milliara’s hand, intertwining his fingers with hers and feeling the force with which the elf attempted to crush his palm.

“I hate you,” her eyes were red as veins popped in them, “I hate your face and I hate your height! I regret the day I decided to sleep with you!”

“Of course,” he kissed her knuckles, stroking Milliara’s forehead with his free hand.

Milliara was covered in sweat that the maids could barely wipe away in time. Yllia, the midwife, cooed between her legs and massaged the elf’s convulsing thighs between contortions. Millie breathed deeply, knowing that the next round of pain would leave her gasping for air.

“She’s very open,” the midwife told Gilbert, her face wrinkled in concentration. “We need to get her to the chair.”

“What fucking chair?” Milliara moaned, trying to look around the room. Her eyes located a large wooden chair next to the fireplace, back to the window, with sturdy arm rests and a curve to its seat.

“Hold on to me, my love,” Gilbert whispered.

Before Milliara could yell at him, she felt his hands slide underneath her. She screamed and slapped his face and shoulders as he lifted her in the air, the child in her kicking in anger, and the elf echoed that anger with her nails that dug into Gilbert’s neck.

“Put me back!” She demanded, tugging on his hair, seeing the man bare his teeth in pain. “Put me back, you fuck!”

“One moment, Millie, just a moment,” he pushed words through his tightly pressed lips. Blood started dripping from where she pushed her nails deeply.

He carefully lowered her onto the birthing chair and suddenly Millie realized why the seat was curved. It aligned well with her buttocks and her spread legs. As Gilbert let go of her, she gripped the arm rests and felt the pressure in her back shift to its lower point, positioning itself in her hips. It was easier now.

Inhaling air with an open mouth, she felt Gilbert’s arms – one cupping her jaw and the other massaging the painful knot of muscles and nerves on her lower back.

“Yes, right there,” the midwife nodded at her husband, taking away her palm after she directed Gilbert’s movements. “Keep that going until the babe is out, now, and you, love, try to squeeze as if trying to relieve yourself when I say so.”

Milliara shifted forwards on her seat so that the midwife would have a better reach inside her, letting out short gasps as Gilbert massaged the spot on her back. And then she screamed, shaking violently, as the razor she felt only once before started to carve her from the inside.

 ***

She was still in pain when her insides felt cavernously empty. Panting, tears stopped coming from her eyes and there was a cry. Weak at first, it picked up, loud and clear voice of the baby filling everything there was in Milliara. Lying in a pool of her own blood and sweat and Maker knows what else, she tried to lift herself up to peek at the baby.

“Who is it?” She asked, barely audible, her entire body shaking and weak. Her breathing was ragged and drops of cold sweat sat on her nose. “Ser, who is it?”

The doctor used the last clean towel to wash off some blood and gunk from the babe. Without much consideration, he cut the umbilical cord with a pocket knife, lifting a small pink body for Milliara to see. The baby’s legs and arms were curled and moving in circles, as if trying to protect itself, and the face was squished in displease.

“Your son,” the doctor said shortly.

Letting out a huff of laughter, Milliara outstretched her arms, overwhelmed by inner warmth and a need to hold this helpless creature, to hug him and kiss him. She wanted to take him in her arms and to never let go of him.

And the doctor didn’t give him to her.

He wrapped the child into a blanket Milliara didn’t see before, the baby shrieking at sudden movements of the man. The elf, exhausted from giving birth, pleaded him to be gentle, but only got an angry reply in return.

“I’m a doctor, I know what I’m doing,” he snapped at Milliara. “Lie down and breathe for now.”

“Please, let me hold him,” Milliara repeated her request. “That is my baby, my beautiful baby…”

“He needs to be cleaned before that,” the doctor insisted. “You, too. Wait here.”

Milliara whimpered as she watched the doctor take her son away, a scream and a cry mixing in her chest as the door closed behind him. She tried to crawl down from the cot but there was no energy left in her body. Wailing, she clung onto it, bleeding. Alone again, hearing Fred’s laughter behind the wall.

“Talven!” She cried out desperately, hoping that the Chevalier would hear. “His name is Talven!”

“Look, brother,” she heard Frederic say, “this is my son and heir, Nils Leon de Rousseau.”

Milliara let out the longest howl in her life, her knuckles white from force with which she gripped the edge of her cot. She howled all insults she knew, she wailed with curses upon Frederic and his Chevaliers. She wanted to lay a curse on all of Orlais. The rest of the umbilical cord dangled between her legs. Her body contorted again to push out something else.

And then, exhausted and powerless, she fell on the cot unconscious.

 ***

She was still in pain when her insides felt cavernously empty. Her body shuddering rhythmically, Milliara felt tears come out of her eyes as she saw the midwife gently lift up the crying blood-covered babe for the elf to hold him.

“That’s your son, my lords,” the woman said proudly, giving a careful stroke to his head. “Look at how handsome he is!”

Her hands were shaking when she lifted the baby in her arms, inspecting the tiny yet big curled limbs and squished face. He already had Nathy and Gilbert’s nose, a small button sitting in the middle of a round head, bare of any hair except for a swirl above his big forehead.

Milliara gasped and put her lips at that swirl, dark like her husband’s locks. She heard him grunt and huff, tiny palm pressing against her chin, and heart inside her chest felt so big that it would crush her ribs if it continued to beat so hard and fast. She planted kisses all over him, not caring that her face got covered in her own blood.

She felt movement, and when she looked down, she saw the midwife put the umbilical cord over a broadsword. Shocked at the sight of it, she watched Gilbert cut the cord with his dagger as if in trance, holding her son tight to her chest.

“May he be a strong warrior,” the midwife said proudly, giving the shocked elf a kind smile.

“May his heart be strong as steel and his hand as steady,” Gilbert added, taking away the weapons.

The midwife took the baby away and Milliara hesitated to let him go. Gilbert wrapped his arms around her waist, her stomach having dropped and deflated, and she entrusted the woman her son. One of the maids took her place, wiping Milliara’s thighs.

“He is perfect, Millie,” Gilbert let go of her waist to stand up and to come around the chair, his hands on Milliara’s shoulders. “Maker, honey, we have a son!”

He stood on one knee, tenderly stroking Milliara’s cheek as the elf leaned back in her seat, having only enough energy to breath and watch the midwife bathe her son. Their son. She weakly placed her palms on his arm, giving him the smallest of squeezes. She was wet, her chemise sticking to her body, and she could smell her own dirty hair. And Gilbert smiled at her as if she commanded the sun to rise in the morning, as if the tides came and went by her order.

“I love him,” Millie whispered, looking into his eyes. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you, too,” he kissed her on the nose and then on her cheeks. “And I love him, too, and… Millie?”

Her breathing became steady as Milliara felt the familiar pressure in her stomach, placenta sliding out of her body through an opening her son left in her. She was calm and, Abyss fuck it, she was so tired.

 

Back then, the doctor never came. And she kept asking – whenever she was given food, whenever she got water – and she wasn’t told a single thing of her Talven. Of Frederic’s Nils Leon de Rousseau.

She slept on her cot, weak and sick, her pussy ripped by the child, and there was nobody to be there for her. Only darkness and silence and quiet whispers of the guards outside her door.

Now she woke up in her bed. Weak and exhausted, but somehow rested, even though she felt like fainting again. She looked around and found herself in her bedroom, washed and dressed into a new chemise. And… for some reason her knees were tied together? And something was cold and wet between her legs.

“Gilbert?” Milliara quietly called out, running fingers through her hair. “Gilly?”

“Good morning,” he answered, turning away from the window with a small bundle of blankets in his hands. His smile was pure joy and happiness. “Hi.”

She shifted on her bed as he walked up to her, lightly rocking the bundle on his way, singing in Fereldan. Although she couldn’t understand the words, from the tune alone she knew it was a lullaby. Millie couldn’t keep a smile away as he climbed onto the bed, peeking inside the blankets.

Their son had been washed and now the swirl of hair above his forehead became a puffy curl. He happily gargled as Milliara took him in her hands and put him on her chest. She took his tiny palm and melted when she saw that all his five fingers could barely wrap around her thumb.

“He’s got ten little fingers and ten little toes,” Gilbert rested his chin on Milliara’s shoulder. “I counted. He’s perfect in any way you’d look.”

“Why are my knees tied?” She asked him, stroking the baby’s cheek with one finger. “And what is that thing between my legs?”

“Good wife Yllia insisted she put placenta on you,” he explained, looking up at Milliara. “You ripped, my love, and she says it is the quickest way for you to heal. She tied your knees so it doesn’t fall while you shift in your rest.”

She wanted to say something but she felt her ears flush and droop slightly as the baby on her chest started toothlessly nibbling, searching for her nipple. Milliara positioned him properly and pulled down her night gown, baring her chest.

“How long was I out?” She turned to Gilbert, trembling inside as she felt the tiny hungry mouth on her breast, drawing closer and closer to her nipple.

“Two and a half hours,” the man replied, kissing his wife’s shoulder. “Our boy got hungry.”

Milliara inhaled sharply as the toothless bite of her son turned out to be strong and painful. She rocked his hand that still rested on her finger, cooing at the babe. Gilbert watched her feed him, his heart loudly thumping and filling him with desire to sing and dance. He pulled Milliara’s night gown to bare her other breast, lightly pressing around her nipple and squeezing out a droplet of milk. He caught it with his index finger and tasted it. With a wrinkle between his brows Gilbert moaned at the sour taste.

“You are horrible,” Milliara laughed, her nipple between her son’s lips starting to hurt.

They laid in silence for a while, watching their son blurb and eat, his eyes still closed. He seemed almost grumpy at the fact he even had to eat, head moving up and down slowly. Gilbert put his arm under Millie. His hand fell just in place to lovingly brush against their son’s ear.

“I thought about the name,” Milliara said quietly, almost sneaking in what she wanted to say.

“Is that so?” He kissed the tip of her ear and Millie chuckled. It tickled and she felt so light she would float up in the air if it weren’t for Gilly holding her down.

“Bryce,” she tapped the boy’s nose as he ate, “Bryce Talven Guerrin.”

Gilbert grunted as he brushed his nose against Millie’s hair and smiled.

“That is a nice name,” he agreed. “But I have another proposal.”

Millie scoffed at his stubbornness, her heart prickling, but she decided to not dismiss the proposal before she hears it. “What is it?”

“Talven,” he whispered, peppering Milliara’s neck and shoulder with small kisses. “Talven Bryce Guerrin, Arl of Redcliffe.”

She looked at him in disbelief. Little Bryce-Talven let go of Milliara’s nipple and now smacked his little lips, having had enough.

“Are you certain?” She asked, unsure and suspicious. “Won’t your banns rebel if they have a half-blooded Arl with an elven name?”

“They can eat their hearts out. This is our son and he deserves a good honest name,” Gilbert laughed, placing his head on her shoulder and staring at the satisfied baby. “There could never be any objection against naming a babe after his grandparent, especially one as kind as loving as your own most excellent father.”

Something in his words and phrasing made Millie feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. She tilted her head to rest it on top of his, discovering new sensations he gave her. Milliara Guerrin felt safe, she felt protected. She knew this is her most vulnerable state, but she felt as if nothing and nobody could ever hurt her or harm her, to cause her pain. Her son, too. Their son.

“Say that he is our son again. Please,” she whispered.

Gilbert looked up at her, sneaking a kiss on her lips, light and warm. He never questioned such her requests and it was a small joy of his own.

“This is our son, Talven. He is yours and mine.”


End file.
